


Chasing Paper Planes

by misscanteloupe



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, therapy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscanteloupe/pseuds/misscanteloupe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU Swan Queen. Regina Mills has been grasping for straws in her marriage for the better part of two years. Reluctantly she agrees to take on a different approach. The solution? </p>
<p>Sex therapy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing Paper Planes

**Author's Note:**

> Before you guys continue, just know that this story does contain a bit of outlaw queen. Not nearly enough to make anyone nauseated if you aren't a huge fan. I tried to make this as realistic as possible, thus the guy isn't a dick. He's human and has emotions and all that jazz.
> 
> Also, I didn't edit as much as I should have. So this whole thing's probably cluttered with errors and cheesiness that I'm too lazy to read through. So um.. enjoy?

It's a cool September morning in the city of New York.

There's something about the way the clock ticks on the other side of the room that drives Regina just a little more insane than she already is. She doesn't say anything, though. Working in an office for nearly a decade of her life has taught her the importance of patience, and feigning ignorance of her surroundings. And to be fair a measly old clock is probably the least of her worries at the moment.

So she takes her seat and stares rigidly ahead, ankles crossed like the poised woman she is. In reality she's a jittering mass of nerves. It's a feeling she never thought she would have the displeasure of experiencing in a simple, grey-washed waiting room.

"Mills."

She looks up. The secretary is an elderly woman with a face as grey as the room is, with drying, brittle hair pulled into a bun. Her smile is sincere when she catches Regina's gaze, however.

"Are you one of Dr. Hopper's clients?"

Regina nods mutely to save herself the trouble of using her voice. She doesn't think she can manage to utter another word when her throat feels like sandpaper and the nausea settles heavily in her stomach.

"And he referred you to Dr. Swan?"

"Yes." This time Regina does speak, and the feeling is about as foreign as the crippling nerves.

"Very well. She should be ready now. Down the hall, last door to your left. Room 312."

Again Regina nods before offering a tight-lipped smile. She doesn't know if it's the paranoia speaking, or the fear of anyone discovering her reason for being here, but it's a self-destructive combination that has her feeling as though she's walking through a portal with no real notion of what is about to happen.

It's a terrifying sensation and, despite what Dr. Hopper says, she  _shouldn't_ be here.

The man had been her therapist for the better part of two years, roughly the same amount of time she had tied the knot with Robin and married him under a sea of light and newly wed smiles. It had been absolutely perfect at the time - a small, formal wedding with only the closest of her family and friends. It wasn't a picture-perfect visual of what she'd envisioned as a little girl. But it had been enough.

Coincidentally enough it was around the same time she spiraled into a field of depression.

She doesn't know how, or when, but sometime in the first few months of her marriage, Regina had woken up and felt... nothing. Not the warmth from Roland's boyish smiles, or the gentle heat of Robin's touch.

It was as though something shifted, like a blank space had wedged into her life and she was powerless to stop it. Life was moving too fast to enjoy the little things that should come out of marrying the man of your dreams. And she had been left with was an emptiness in her chest that couldn't simply be resolved with pretenses and a candle lit dinner.

It was during their fourth month that Robin had convinced her that they should see a marriage counselor. Fortunately for her Dr. Hopper had been as supportive as any therapist can be, and for a while it worked. She could see a light at the end of the tunnel that resembled something like hope.

And Regina likes to grasp for any strands of hope she can find.

But the withering feeling inside her never died. Instead she had learned to ignore it, to bury it as deep as she possibly could until once day, it dawned on her that she no longer enjoys her husband's company like she once did. The mere thought of Robin's hands on her sends her fidgeting in discomfort. Sex is more of a chore than anything resembling pleasure.

She can't stand it.

It's the only reason why Regina had even bothered to consider Hopper's suggestion. The last three sessions were bad enough without him blushing over the specifics of her sex life - when was the last time she'd had an orgasm? Does she masturbate frequently? Has Robin ever even fucked her somewhere that isn't a bed? - before he offered up another solution entirely.

Sex therapy.

And that's where she finds herself now, despite her initial reprise to the idea. She's only ever heard of the practice as some faraway notion that middle-aged women take up when they're unhappy with their sex lives.

And by gods, Regina will never admit that she has become one of those women.

In the end curiosity won out. She took the morning off work and planted some superficial lie when Robin had asked if she wanted him to join her. But no. She needs to do this on her own.

Room 312.

The door stands adjacent to the large, oval window peering out into the city, right at the end of the hall. It's white with a golden plate number that holds no real significance, yet Regina hesitates with the same nervousness brimming in her veins. For a moment she contemplates knocking, as that would be the polite thing to do.

But when does Regina ever knock?

She opens the door and is greeted by the sight of wide, open space. There's a large desk at one end of the office, and a nice window view that faces the nicer part of 45th street. A glass coffee table sits at the center, in between a long leather sofa and chair. On the far wall there's a bookcase containing an impressive, albeit unusual collection of poetry and psychology books.

Other than that, the room is empty.

Regina's gaze flicks from the desk to the hallway. The secretary did say she was ready - whoever  _she_ is, as Regina can only assume is the counselor. She blows out an irritated breath and slowly counts to three.

One.

Two.

"Hello?"

Suddenly there's a crash from behind the doorway. Regina jolts as papers scatter to the floor by her feet and a mane of blond hair skips over her vision.

"Ow. Sorry!"

The blonde in question picks herself off the floor - how she had even fallen in the first place is lost on Regina - before turning to greet her. For a second Regina is stunned into silence by the appearance of this woman. She looks nothing like the old hag she had envisioned in her head. Instead she seems to be around Regina's age, young and vibrant with green eyes that smile at her. She completely lacks a professional appeal, donned in skinny jeans with a pair of boots and a sweater.

Regina is so taken by the appearance that she almost misses the earbuds being pulled from the woman's neck.

"You must be Regina," she greets and this time smiles fully. "I was just putting some files up in the closet. Didn't hear the door open. I'm Emma Swan, by the way."

She holds her hand out in gesture, and Regina stares at it for a long moment before taking it. The skin is soft against her palm.

"Dr. Swan."

"Please, call me Emma."

"And you can call me Ms. Mills."

Emma's smile doesn't falter, as Regina half expects it to. If anything it widens and there's a mischievous glint in her eyes that Regina doesn't know what to make of.

"So you're one of those clients, huh?" Emma adds as an afterthought, and Regina doesn't have time to question what that's supposed to mean before the woman continues, "Is there a Mr. Mills joining us?"

"His last name is Locksley. I chose to keep my maiden name," Regina informs her in an airy tone. "And no. He won't be joining us."

"Alrighty then. Why don't you take a seat on the sofa? I'll be with you in just a minute."

Before Regina can respond, the woman is already gone, probably to resume whatever she had been doing with the files. Regina rolls her eyes and stiffly makes her way to the leather sofa. She's already beginning to regret this decision. And to think Hopper had the audacity to refer her to someone as uncouth as  _this_ person.

Emma appears to be preparing for their session when Regina takes the time to study her more closely. Aside from the hideous outfit, the woman is really rather beautiful, in a simple sort of way. Due to her status, Regina has surrounded herself with many attractive people throughout her life. People who could afford the very best. That goes without saying, while this woman is certainly not upperclass material, there's something about the way she presents herself that stops Regina from getting up and walking out the door.

Maybe it's the curve of her backside when she bends over in those ridiculously tight jeans.

Realizing where her thoughts are heading, Regina hastily tears her gaze away.

"You know, you don't have to look so frigid," Emma states with a laugh. She comes back with a clipboard in hand, and a pair of black-framed glasses that weren't perched on her nose before. "Archie told me you can be a little standoffish. But seriously, I don't bite. It's just sex therapy."

Regina blanches. "Don't call it that."

The words immediately have a sobering effect. Emma nods calmly and takes a seat in the leather chair across from her.

"Okay," she says gently. "How about just therapy then?"

"Is this the part where you tell me to lie down so we can talk about my feelings?" Regina asks mockingly.

"You can if you want," Emma says, shrugging. "I don't know if Archie's told you yet, but I don't usually follow standard procedures."

"Yes, well. As long as I won't be taking off any clothes."

At this Emma laughs outright. It's low and smooth and combined with her ridiculous sweater and reading glasses, Regina finds herself staring.

"That's just a myth to scare people off. This kind of counseling is all talk, though. Maybe some breathing exercises to make it a little easier," Emma informs her through a grin. "But it's not like I could stop you if you wanted to, either. I certainly wouldn't mind."

It takes a second for the meaning to catch up to her, but when it does Regina stiffens, and something in her insides spins and twists. She feels her face warm before narrowing her eyes. This woman can't possibly be  _flirting_ with her.

Can she?

Emma seems to have noticed her struggle as well. Her smile disappears and is instantly replaced by a more serious look, and suddenly she's leaning into the chair.

"Why do you think you're here, Regina?" Emma asks from out of the blue. There's absolutely nothing intimidating about the expression on her face, yet Regina can already sense the nerves simmering in her belly.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Regina says offhandedly. "Isn't that your job, after all?"

But Emma simply smiles. "It's my job to help you get through whatever it is you're going through. But I guess that's a pretty loaded question for the first day. How about you tell me a little about yourself, then? Where do you work?"

"I'm the CEO of Regal Industries," is all Regina says, because at least  _this_ is easy enough.

Emma whistles. "Impressive."

For whatever reason, Regina finds herself blushing, and she clears her throat in anticipation for the next question.

"What about things at home? Do you have any kids?"

"A step-son," Regina replies tentatively. "His name is Roland. He's four."

"Roland. Cute name."

Silence. Regina has never been the type to start conversations, nonetheless continue them. Even with Dr. Hopper, it had taken her a good six months before she could say more than ten words at a time, all blunt and to the point.

"What about your husband?"

At the mention of Robin, Regina's face hardens. Whatever it was that had her complying for the time being vanishes just as quickly as her walls begin to close.

"What about him?" Regina snaps. There's an edge to her tone that prickles with defensiveness, which she can't quite understand. Isn't he the reason  _why_ she's here?

Emma raises her palms up. "I'm only asking, Regina. I know it can be hard at first when you're having problems with your spouse -"

"I'm  _not_ having problems with Robin," Regina firmly insists, and she's standing up now, nearly towering over Emma's frame. "And you would do well not to make such poor assumptions. You know nothing."

Emma's eyes never leave hers. Her overall demeanor remains unperturbed even as Regina glowers heavily at her.

"You're right," Emma acknowledges. "I shouldn't have assumed."

The response isn't in the least what Regina's expecting. There's nothing left to fuel her anger anymore as her shoulders drop, the tightness in her chest fading to a dull throb. And the worst part of it?

It's the most Regina has felt in the past three weeks.

"I shouldn't have come," Regina murmurs and nervously wrings her wedding band around her finger. "This was a waste of time for us both. I apologize."

She doesn't spare the woman another look as she strides back to the door. It turns out she doesn't have to.

"I have a son who's around Roland's age," Emma says from the other side. "His name is Henry. He's ten."

Regina comes to a halt, her hand pausing over the door handle when Emma's voice drifts over the room again.

"I had him when I was eighteen, with a man twelve years older than I was. As soon as he found out, he skipped off and left us to fend for ourselves. Ever since then I haven't been with another man."

Regina's heart is racing, pounding against her chest. She doesn't turn around when she asks, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because having trust takes two people. Without one person building trust too, it's like a fish without water," Emma states. "I want you to trust me, Regina. And if the only way you can do that is by knowing my life story, then ask me anything. I promise I'll answer honestly. I just want to help you."

Regina sucks in a ragged breath. The silence that ensues is practically deafening. If not for her heartbeat drumming frantically over her ears, she would think the world had gone silent.

She waits a little longer before turning fully, meeting Emma's patient gaze from across the room.

"I can't stand the thought of him touching me," Regina says in a near whisper, barely audible, but she knows it doesn't reach deaf ears. "I haven't been able to feel  _anything_ \- sexual or otherwise - for... a very long time."

Emma nods in understanding.

"Will you come sit with me?" she asks. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

And just like that the air around them clears and Regina can breathe again. The hand she had placed over the handle falls back to her side, and the door clicks shut behind her.

..

" _Sex therapy?_ " Tink exclaims with some amusement, though mostly in disbelief.

They're sitting in a small French café down the block from Regina's office building - Cafe Triskell, one of her personal favorites. Regina tends to come here during her lunch hours, though today it seems she'll be spending her Saturday morning trying to dodge the topic of therapy from Theresa.

Or as everyone calls her. Tink.

"Hopper's out of his damn mind. I'll tell you that much."

Regina hums from behind her glass, leveling a look over to the counters where Robin still seems to be aiding Roland with the menu.

"I thought so, too," she declares thoughtfully. "Although it certainly isn't the worst idea he's had thus far."

"I thought sex therapy was only something you see in movies. You know, like in porn."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Will you stop calling it that? I don't know what kind of revolting videos you've seen, but this is nothing like that. It's simply another form of counseling."

"Right," Tink deadpans, who looks entirely too disbelieving for Regina's tastes. "'Counseling.' If that's what the kids call it these days. Is the guy at least hot?"

"Dr. Swan is a woman."

"Swan, huh? Alright, is  _she_ hot?"

Regina's stomach jolts in some unexplainable fashion, and she immediately tries to cover it up with a croissant. Apparently she doesn't manage to hide the warmth rushing to her face in time as Tink's eyes narrow on her.

"Regina Mills," she utters through a laugh. "Are you  _blushing_?"

"Of course not," Regina snaps defensively. "I just haven't grown used to your vulgarity. But for your information, yes. She is a rather attractive woman."

"Is that why you're blushing?"

"I'm not -" Regina trails off, sucking in a sharp breath. "I'm married, Tink. I don't have the sort of freedom any longer to talk about such... juvenile things. You tend to forget that."

Reaching out for her hand, Tink offers her a sympathetic look. "I know. I was only kidding."

"I know."

There's a long pause in which Tink's gaze lingers on her face in a studious, albeit knowing manner, before it flicks to the counter and back to her.

"How are things going with you and Robin?"

Regina silently circles the rim of her cup with a finger, focusing her attention on the rhythmic movement.

"As if you don't already know."

"I figured something would've changed since you guys last saw Hopper."

"We're going out to dinner tonight, if that's what you want to hear."

"Well, that's good, right?" Tink offers assuringly, her smile dimming slightly at Regina's detached hum. "Why don't we change the subject? Tell me more about this hot therapist of yours."

Regina huffs, but nonetheless feels a small smile curl at her lips. "Her name's Emma," she says. "I'm seeing her Tuesdays and Fridays."

"Is she good at what she does? Can she help me with my sex life?"

"You don't have a sex life, Tink."

" _Yet._ "

Before Regina can respond, Roland rushes back to their table, his small, dimpled face peering up at her with a smile that could cure cancer.

"R'gina, look what daddy got me!" he exclaims, grinning broadly at the eclair he has wrapped in his hand.

She runs a hand through his hair, smiling despite the disapproving look she tries to stifle when Robin emerges behind him.

"Before you say anything, I've been promising him an eclair for weeks," he says as he shrugs sheepishly. "You can choose what he eats for lunch."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, Robin. She'll get the poor kid a salad," Tink pipes up.

"I have more sense than to feed a four-year old a salad, thank you very much."

"And I, on the other hand, trust your judgment completely," Robin assures her with an open smile, one that leaves her stomach sinking with an unfathomable amount of dread as he leans over to kiss her gently on the cheek.

Dread, and a strange sense of guilt. Because for a second all she sees is a flicker of yellow dance across her vision. And she has no idea what it could mean.

"Kiss-ass," Tink mumbles beneath her breath.

..

Come Tuesday and Regina is brimming with anticipation.

She doesn't care to explain why that is when the room is quiet enough to hear the soft scratch of pen against paper and the rustle of her own nervous shifting. There hasn't been a single word said in the last ten minutes of her second session, and it's beginning to take a toll on her. So she steadies her gaze on the woman across from her and wonders why can't stop staring at Emma instead.

After several more minutes of this, Emma's lip quirks and she glances up. "Do you always stare holes at your therapists or am I just one of the lucky ones?"

Regina does her best to hide the flush from her face. "Perhaps I'm waiting on you to do your job instead of wasting my hard earned money sitting here in silence."

"First two sessions are free, if you remember," Emma points out. "And I am doing my job. I've asked you several questions, all of which you refused to answer."

"You asked me how often I ejaculate."

"And it's a simple enough question, don't you think?"

Regina clenches her jaw and stares resolutely at the floor. She still hasn't managed to lay back on the sofa, as tempting as the thought is. Her back is stiff from lack of sleep the night before and she isn't sure how much longer she'll be able to sit up like this without bursting her neck muscles.

Finally Emma sighs.

"Here's the thing, Regina. I like to think of what I do as sexual creative problem solving. My clients come to me with issues like orgasmic difficulties and mismatched sex drives," she explains in a serious tone. "But your situation is a bit different. You don't seem to have any physical attraction for your husband at all."

That jolts Regina out of her musings.

"What are you talking about? Of course I do," she snips back.

"I'm only basing this off what you've told me," Emma assures her. "Men are very different from women when it comes to sex. While men relate to the physical aspects, women relate emotionally. Think of how society teaches men to relate to each other. They shake hands and bear hug. They play sports. Tackle each other for the fun of it. It's all action. Generally speaking, that's why men have a habit of going straight into sex. It's a whole different mindset.

"Women, on the other hand, have been socialized to connect with words. Words and touch.  _Foreplay_. A lot of it. Does that sound like something he does for you?"

Regina's lips part in response, echoing the silence that follows afterward. The way Emma is looking at her sends Regina's stomach dropping lower than where it should be.

"Let me put it this way," Emma says when the silence continues, and she's leaning forward now, jean-clad legs tucked beneath her as her eyes lock hard with Regina's own.

"Does he kiss that tender part on your neck? Down your chest? Caress you until you feel like every  _inch_  of your body is on fire, until you feel like any longer, any minute you'll explode. Does he make your heart beat faster? Make you moan and writhe and lose your mind? Does he make you  _wet_?"

Her breath snags harshly in her throat. Regina's heart is pounding in her ears, making her feel lightheaded, like the room is spinning around her and she's powerless to stop it. She feels the heat of the words spread from her head to the low thrumming between her thighs, and Regina senses the guilt tug at her heartstrings once more.

Because it isn't Robin she envisions doing those things to her.

The back of her neck becomes clammy with sweat when Emma stares back at her with the same intensity, except it looks like the blonde is trying to read her.

"Who were you just thinking about?" Emma asks. If Regina didn't know any better, she'd say Emma's voice is slightly hoarser than it usually is.

Much like Regina's.

"What do you mean?"

"I've been around enough people to know when they're aroused. Men are obvious. But women are more subtle. Their pupils become dilated, their breathing patterns escalate," Emma elaborates. "And you, Regina, are definitely aroused. Were you thinking about Robin?"

Another flicker.

Yellow.

Regina quickly squelches the image and broaches a different subject. "None."

"I'm sorry?"

"To your previous question. When you asked how many times I've... ejaculated in the past month," Regina explains tentatively. "The answer is none. I haven't in the two years I've been married."

Instead of the mocking look of surprise Regina expects to see on the other woman's face, Emma merely bobs her head in a considerate nod.

"That's not abnormal, you know," she offers. "Most women can't orgasm during vaginal intercourse."

"I can see why," Regina adds wryly.

The response brings out an amused chuckle from Emma, and Regina swears her heart spins in her chest from the sound. Whatever emotions swirling inside her at that moment vanishes when Emma glances up at the clock.

"Shoot. I have my next appointment in ten minutes. Guess we better wrap this up."

The disappointment in Regina's chest is sweltering. "Already?"

"Well, maybe if  _someone_ didn't waste thirty minutes of our time dodging questions," Emma counters playfully, but it's all for naught when Regina simply sits back and scowls.

"Hey," Emma says and her eyes are softer now, urging Regina to look at her. "I have a task I want you to get started on before our next appointment."

Regina arches a brow. "Are you assigning me  _homework_ , Dr. Swan?"

"You know, I kind of like it when you call me that," Emma states cheekily. "Makes me feel mature."

"Yes, as if a doctoral in psychology isn't enough."

"Sometimes it's not," Emma says through a shrug. Before Regina can question it, she continues, "I want you to find a hobby. I figure you're always busy working or spending time with... your family. But you should find something that _you_ enjoy doing. And do it. Give yourself some time to act young again. Spend some time with yourself. Discover what you like."

"That sounds..." Regina struggles with the right word. "Time consuming."

Emma laughs. "And you'd be amazed at the results," she says. "I like to go to Central Park at six every morning and run. Exercise creates chemicals called endorphins, you know. The same ones you find when you're happy. Does wonders for your libido, too."

The casual wink Emma sends her way causes the hairs on the back of her neck to stand.

"You should come join me some time," Emma adds as an afterthought. "It'd be fun to have someone to run with."

Regina clears her throat. "I'll... think about it."

"That's all I ask."

They smile at one another, hers more unsure than Emma's dimpled grin, but it makes Regina feel like a teenager all over again. Like she has something to look forward to in a day filled with worries and expectations.

"I should go," Regina insists hastily and moves to stand. Emma's eyes follow her all the way to the door. "Thank you for your time, Miss Swan. Perhaps I'll see you before this upcoming Friday."

Emma's voice stops her before Regina can reach the door.

"You look really nice today, by the way," she says in a tone that is probably meant to convey simple admiration. Instead it does things to Regina's stomach that she would rather ignore. "Blue really suits you."

Regina responds with a terse smile, nods, because that's all she can do. And then promptly leaves the room.

Outside, she lets out the breath she's been holding and allows her forehead to rest against the doorway. It feels cool against her skin, a complete contrast to the heat simmering beneath everything else.

And  _oh gods._

_No no nononono._

What the hell is happening to her?

..

She doesn't spend her time searching for a hobby like Emma had advised. Work takes up a great deal of her time, not to mention there's a four-year old she needs to bathe, feed, and keep up with on a daily basis. At the very least Robin has the sense to know when to give her space.

Most often than not it's every day.

So when she finds herself in Central Park early on Thursday morning, clad in the only set of running gear she owns, Regina begins to question her sanity.

What had she been  _thinking_ , showing up like this?

She hadn't, that's for sure. Even on the off chance that Emma had been serious about her invitation to run with her, Regina has never felt so out of place. So helpless towards a situation she has no idea how to solve. For some reason she's drawn to Emma like a moth is to a flame and if that isn't enough reason to run far away from it all, then she doesn't know what is.

So of course she has to run  _towards_ the first sign of trouble.

Literally.

It happens too suddenly for Regina to grasp just how ridiculous the circumstances are. Or terribly convenient, when she's been standing by the reservoir for a good twenty minutes, blowing air into her palms and cursing herself for being so stupid as to wait this long.

She turns around in time to collide with a brick wall.

That's how it feels just before Regina is knocked to the ground. Her face pulls into a sneer as she readies herself to lash out at whoever had crashed into her.

"You  _idiot._ Watch where you're -" she trails off at the first glimpse of familiar green eyes.

They widen in surprise before Emma breaks out into a toothy smile. "Hey, you made it!"

They're both on the ground now, Regina with her backside aching against the cold concrete. But she can't bring herself to care. The smile on the blonde's face brings her anger to a screeching halt.

Immediately Emma's expression turns sheepish. "Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

She stands up and offers Regina a hand, which she takes with the anticipation of feeling it all the way down to the tug in her stomach. She isn't disappointed.

"Yes, well." She's brushes the dirt off her pants. "We really should stop meeting up this way."

"Worried I might knock myself into a coma one day?" Emma jests with a cheeky grin, and Regina inwardly slaps herself for thinking it just a little bit charming.

"Who else is going to give me therapeutic advice on my sex life?" Regina responds wryly.

She hadn't meant to say that out loud - being around Emma has apparently loosened her tongue - but Emma just chuckles, all flush-faced and perspiration, and suddenly it's okay.

"No sex advice today," Emma says. "Just workout tips. You ready to run?"

"Not really. No."

"We'll start with jogging, then. There's another bridge a mile down this pathway right here," she gestures, maintaining a straight face even as she says, "I mean, if you think you can keep up."

There's a glint in Emma's eye that suggests she's merely playing around, though the competitive side that Regina never fails to hide awakens at the challenge. Never mind the fact that she hasn't broken into a single run since her high school days.

Regina rolls her eyes. "After you, Miss Swan."

..

As it turns out, not exercising consistently in well over a decade, as well as failing to mention that she had yet to perform any stretching exercises, leaves a lot to be desired.

They make it to the bridge Emma had mentioned before Regina manages to burst an artery. Her muscles ache from the exertion, her lungs ready to burst out of her ribcage as she struggles to regain some control over her breathing. She imagines she doesn't look her best right now - a sweaty, unkempt mess.

And yet, Regina has never felt more alive.

"See? I told you you could do it."

Regina spares her a wry look. "I believe your exact words were, 'run faster, you cream puff'."

She laughs. "I had to do something to keep you going."

Obviously Emma hardly breaks a sweat. She's grinning broadly as she patiently waits for Regina to regain her bearings; the blonde's hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, her face deprived of any make up, and her sweatshirt is more raggedy than anything Regina would ever think to own.

It's a mystery how anyone can still be so attractive.

"How do you feel?" Emma asks after a moment.

"Better," Regina says, sounding surprised by her own response. "Alive, almost."

"Good. That means we're getting somewhere."

"Does it?" Regina inquires doubtfully. It's stifling beneath her sweater, despite it being fairly cold this early in the morning. She shrugs out of her outerwear for the time being and stands amidst the morning breeze in her yoga top.

"It's progress," is all Emma says, though she sounds distracted. Her gaze had flicked to Regina's chest and lingers there for a long, strained second before she averts her eyes.

It takes another long second for Regina to realize she should have worn a sturdier bra.

Hastily donning her sweater again, mostly to save herself the embarrassment of already hardened nipples, Regina clears her throat.

"So what now?"

"Now we admire the scenery," Emma answers like it's obvious. "This is actually my favorite place to stop."

"And why is that?"

Emma peers at her from the edge of the bridge, then motions over the railing. "Look up."

And Regina does.

She's momentarily stunned by the sight of the New York City skyline up ahead, lined by a row of elegant buildings towering over crowded streets. The single road leads directly to a view of vast, open sky, filled with a multitude of colors that signify the upcoming sunrise. Shades of yellow and orange scatter along the horizon.

Around her, the late September air feels riveting, cool and crisp, like a dip in the ocean on a hot summer day. Autumn leaves hover along the ground and flutter around her. And even with the echoes of horns and shouts sounding in the distance, the atmosphere is no less breathtaking.

It's a quiet day in September.

"The sun rises at seven every day during the fall," Emma informs her, following Regina's line of gaze. "One of my foster brothers back in the day showed me some of the places that don't, you know. Get you arrested."

Regina blinks in surprise. "You were in foster care?"

"Mhmm," Emma answers in a hum. "My birthparents abandoned me on the side of the road when I was born. Been to most states in the north, from foster home to foster home up until I was seventeen. Took my GED, had my son, then worked my ass off in a community college until I could get a grant for the better schools. I finished my Master's in Boston."

"You did all of that on your own?"

"I had some help," Emma says, shrugging. "My last foster mom, Eugenia, helped take care of Henry while I was away taking night classes. She had a diner which I helped waitress in return for room and board. But really I think she was waiting for me to get my shit together before helping me pay for school. There's no way I would've gotten anywhere without her."

"Sounds like you had a rough life," Regina observes weakly, because honestly. She's never been very good with personal stories.

"I did. But I don't regret a second of it, either. Not when it's led me to where I am now," Emma explains in a wistful tone, and she's looking at Regina again, not quite expectantly but... knowingly.

"Do you feel ready to talk yet?"

Regina blows out a stubborn breath. "You already know how Robin and I met -"

"I'm not asking about Robin, Regina," Emma says, sounding a little irritated. "I'm asking about  _you_."

Regina falters at this.

Her whole life she's always had someone there to guide her, to control her, her mother being the primary cause. She's never had the chance to be her own person, not until her mother died. And even then, for the last three years, she has always been  _Robin's_.

Robin's wife. Robin's caretaker. Robin's supporter.

Was there ever a time she had anything to call her own?

"Where do I even start?" Regina whispers distantly.

Emma turns to her, and simply gives her a small, sad smile.

"Anywhere you want."

..

It's a bit like a dream, the way time seems to move, never stopping for anyone else.

September turns to October too quickly for Regina's tastes. With it comes the fresh smell of pumpkins and spiced apples, and a growing list of endless possibilities that become more like a light in the attic than she ever thought possible.

Somehow she feels... lighter. Like she doesn't have to wake up every morning and face the darkness alone.

She can smile again and the world will just keep spinning.

She continues to see Emma throughout the next few weeks, every Tuesday and Friday as scheduled, while her Thursdays are still reserved with Dr. Hopper. Although Hopper can be an incompetent twit most times, Regina finds she doesn't mind the therapy sessions anymore. If anything, she finds herself looking  _forward_  to them.

"You seem different today, Regina," Hopper acknowledges one morning, tilting his head so he can eye her from behind his spectacles. "Dare I say it. Happy, almost."

Regina arches a brow from her seat. "Is that so?"

"Considering you haven't threatened me once this morning, I'd say yes," he points out good-naturedly. There's a shimmer in his eye, one that makes Regina believe the conversation is a little more serious than he's letting on.

"I've had my dose of coffee on the way over, if you must know," she counters wryly, only to shift in discomfort. "Plus I've... I've been running lately. Jogging, rather. I can't say that hasn't helped."

"That's good," Hopper offers brightly. "Very good. Exercise can work wonders."

"So I've been told."

"I take it Emma has been helping, then?"

At this, Regina smiles; a small, private smile that worms its way to her face without her permission. She doesn't notice, however.

"You could say that."

Robin appears to notice the change in her mood as well. Lately it seems as though they've been arguing less in the last two weeks, and spending the time trying to string the remnants of their marriage together through conversation. Nothing meaningful or life changing, but casual words about her day. Like the idiot reporter by the name of Sidney Glass who sends flowers to her office every week, or the elderly woman who stands by the subway each and every morning with a smile as warm as the sun.

No, it's never anything meaningful. Because Robin would always listen and nod, smile and go about his day like the good husband he is. And for Regina it's enough. For once she can be satisfied with the knowledge that being listened to is  _enough_.

"Did you want me to save the leftovers for lunch tomorrow?"

It's the evening following Regina's appointment with Dr. Hopper. The newest transactions in the sales department has made it difficult to come home on time for dinner every night, but she pulls through enough to get Roland cleaned and ready for bed. She had allowed him to have an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert tonight in return for his correspondence - getting a four year old ready for bed is never an easy feat.

Aside from the clatter of plates as she clears the table and the sounds of Roland's footsteps pounding away upstairs, the house is unusually quiet.

She hums in response to Robin's question. "No. There's some extra tupperware in the pantry if you want to save it for yourself."

"I'm meeting up with my men tomorrow for some wings."

"Then by all means. Throw it out."

She hears Robin sigh faintly, hears the rustle of his clothes as he moves to throw the rest of the leftovers out, but she doesn't turn around until she senses his presence behind her. His hands move to her shoulders then, stopping her from moving her body fully.

"Don't move," he says gently, before giving her shoulders a light squeeze. "You've been so tense lately, love. Pretty soon you'll be needing physical therapy."

Whatever snarky reply Regina has in mind falls short when she scoffs instead and relaxes into Robin's touch. "As if I need another therapist to add to the list."

"How did your session with Dr. Hopper go?"

"Fine, actually," Regina responds, allowing her eyes to flutter close once strong hands begin massaging her neck. "He was fairly helpful today. And by helpful, I mean not entirely incompetent."

"You know I'd be more than happy to keep you company. He's offered to give us marriage counseling before."

"I'd rather do this alone, Robin. You know that."

He doesn't respond, but instead asks, "What about the other one? Dr. Swan? You never mention her."

Regina stiffens against his touch. If he notices, he doesn't show it. But the thought of bringing up anything remotely related to Emma sends her stomach twisting over a bundle of knots.

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Really?" Robin questions, and he sounds amused. "That's all there is to it?"

"Yes."

"Hmm," he hums distractedly. His hands are on her waist now, pressing into the skin beneath the hem of her blouse as his lips find a place against her neck.

The suddenness of it jolts Regina in place. Her hands clench around the edge of the counter.

"What are you doing?" she urges shakily.

"That depends," he murmurs. "Right now I'm sure it's fairly obvious."

Regina swallows thickly, feels her body stiffen further against roaming hands. "Robin..."

The word has no impact, however, as his touch continues to glide across her stomach. His kisses are gruff, but gentle, and Regina wills herself to relax into the ministrations. To enjoy it if only for one night. That's what a good wife does, isn't it?

_A good wife always pleases her husband._

As her mother's voice cuts cleanly through her thoughts, it isn't until Robin steps forward, molding further into her, that she feels the evidence of his arousal pressing into her backside. Her throat tightens as she firmly shoves him away.

"Stop.  _Stop_ ," she demands, sucking in a sharp breath that nearly leaves her choking on air. Luckily Robin doesn't push, not that he ever has. But he does step back with an expression that radiates frustration.

"I'm not doing this right now," Regina continues in a breathy rush.

"There is never a right now, Regina," Robin insists. He doesn't sound angry exactly. Confused perhaps, and it becomes more prominent in the way his forehead scrunches upward in agitation. "And I'm beginning to think there will never be one."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about  _this_ ," he says and gestures to the space between them. "This...  _distance_ you've placed between us. If I take one step forward, you take two steps back. And for god's sake, you hardly even let me touch you."

Regina juts her chin out. "I don't believe I owe you anything, Robin."

"I'm not saying you do," he says with a defeated sigh, before running a hand through his hair. "I just... wish you would be honest with me. Tell me what's going on."

It's served more as a question than a demand, but Regina remains stock still. The tension in her muscles increases tenfold as Robin stares at her pleadingly. There's nothing she can do at this point but remain guarded to the probing gaze currently making her feel like there are bricks being shoved down her sternum one by one.

Finally the tension breaks with Robin's next words.

"I'm going to go check on Roland," he says and follows the statement with an equally regretful, "I will take the guest room tonight."

He leaves before Regina can respond. She stares after him in a silent daze, standing in an empty kitchen with a heavy weight bearing down her chest. It's tight and hollow and sharp.

She wonders what it takes to break a person, if it sounds anything like the clank of a wine glass shattering against a kitchen wall, if it's even possible to mend the broken pieces when they're falling apart at the seams. Piece by piece.

Regina doesn't think so.

...

"This is stupid."

It's a cold, gloomy morning when Regina makes it to her next appointment.

She's lying across the sofa, her face turned from Emma's expectant gaze and towards the high ceilings of her office. She'd spent the last five minutes grumbling about the idiocies of therapeutic procedures, and yet here she is, spread over a hideous leather chair like a good patient and making out the shapes of meaningless blobs.

Beside her, Emma sighs and puts the picture down. "You're awfully grumpy this morning."

"I'm not  _grumpy_ ," Regina snaps back, not realizing she's completely proving Emma's point. "I simply think this whole thing is pointless. If I wanted to make out drawings all morning, I'd be playing Pictionary with my son."

"They're not drawings. They're inkblot tests," Emma points out.

"It's  _stupid_ , is what it is."

"You'd be surprised by how much they can tell about a person," Emma says. She's grinning, though, probably amused by Regina's antics as she usually is. And honestly Regina can't bring herself to be annoyed by it when it feels more like a breath of fresh air.

"And here I thought you were a master at reading people," Regina says wryly.

"I am."

"Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

She says it in jest, but there's an underlying challenge in her tone that Emma seems to catch onto as she leans back into her seat. The glasses are still perched on the blonde's face as they are every session and Regina truthfully can't stop the shiver that courses down her spine when Emma sits them over her hairline.

"Wanna bet?" Emma goads innocently. Her green eyes are filled with mirth, but the playfulness is dimmed by the seriousness in her demeanor when she flicks her gaze to Regina's torso.

"You place your hand on your stomach when you're nervous, probably from an anxiety technique Dr. Hopper taught you when working with breathing exercises. You also tend to stop yourself when you raise your hand to your mouth. My guess is that you used to bite your nails as a kid, but were trained not to at an early age, and now you keep them perfectly manicured to ensure that you don't.

"You don't like to talk about your feelings. At first I thought it was just a defense mechanism, but out of every subject we've ever discussed, you never talk about your mom. If anything you change the subject whenever I mention her, which leads me to believe you guys had a strained relationship. I say 'had' because you now own your mother's company. And from what little you've told me about Cora Mills, I'm guessing it's not something she'd give up unless she was on her deathbed.

"You talk about your father like he's the world. Sometimes you do the same when it comes to Roland. But there's always something holding you back, like you're afraid to love anyone, even though you can love deeply. Either because your relationship with your mom led you to believe you aren't capable of it, or because you've lost a lot of important people in your life.

"You play with your wedding ring whenever I mention Robin. Or when you're feeling guilty or ashamed," Emma observes thoughtfully, keeping her eyes trained on Regina's hands as the brunette's instant reaction is to go for her ring finger. She stops herself with a heavy breath.

"Your eyes are swollen and redrimmed. Not to mention your mascara is smudged, which either tells me you haven't been getting any sleep, or you've been crying," Emma finishes. "Or both."

Regina sits up abruptly, her eyes locking hard onto Emma's.

"Why were you crying, Regina?"

Regina swallows harshly, tries to stifle the nausea forming in her stomach. "I don't want to talk about it."

Emma only nods and closes the discussion with, "So. How did I do?"

"Not bad," Regina reluctantly admits, grateful for the change of subject. "Only one problem. I never bit my nails as a child. I sucked my thumb."

Emma laughs. "Close enough," she says, and she's peering down now, lifting up another card with a black inked blob.

"Last one. What do you see?"

Staring dully at the image, Regina sighs and leans back into the sofa. "A vagina."

"Seriously? Most people say elephant."

Regina merely shrugs. "As if it's my fault most of these look like a warped version of the female anatomy."

Emma blinks, and for a long, achingly silent moment, stares at Regina before she places the cards back on the table in front of them and assesses her once more.

"Those who see the female anatomy are typically straight men," Emma states, and with a pause, says, "The rest are women who identify as lesbian."

Another pause, one in which Regina holds her breath long enough to feel her head grow hazy at Emma's next words.

"Have you ever given much thought to your sexuality?"

Regina immediately sputters. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your sexual orientation," Emma repeats in a flippant tone. "Did you ever experiment in college? Consider maybe you could be attracted to the same sex?"

" _Excuse me_?"

"Have you had thoughts about sex with -"

"I heard you the first time," Regina snaps, blushing down from the tips of her ears to her neck. "And of course not. I'm strictly heterosexual."

The edge of Emma's lips twitch. "You sure about that?"

"Considering I've only ever dated men, then yes," Regina answers briskly. "What kind of therapist are you? Asking absurd questions like that?"

"The good kind. When half of my clients are actually closet cases, it's not a bad thing to ask. Saves us both a lot of time."

"Closet  _what_?"

There's a long pause where Emma's gaze lingers on her, eyes questioning, and Regina honestly has no idea what to do but stare back.

"You really don't know anything about the lgbt community, do you?"

Regina can't help but feel slightly insulted. "I'll have you know I was a member of the gay-straight alliance in high school."

Biting back a smile, Emma adds, "That's a start. Not the kind I was looking for, though."

"Yes, well. If you're expecting me to come to my senses, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

"I don't expect anything from you, Regina," Emma states adamantly, but in a gentler tone than what she usually uses in their sessions. The pen that she's been holding to jot down notes is tucked behind her ear, and she places the notepad in the space beside her before settling her eyes on Regina once more.

"I had a gsa in my college at one point," she begins. "Back then it was used as a meet-up to spot out who was single and who... well, who was queer. Made dating a whole lot easier. I don't think I've ever had so many one night stands in a single semester."

Regina eyes her curiously, ignoring the odd jab in her stomach that feels strangely like jealousy. "I thought you said you've never been with a man after..."

She doesn't finish.

Emma smiles shrewdly. "Never said anything about women."

There's a tense silence in the room that seems to engulf the space between them. Regina is almost sure her lungs aren't working properly until she sucks in a deep breath.

"So you're," Regina swallows thickly. "You're gay?"

"I'm not a huge fan of labels," Emma says, shrugging. "But to put it simply, yes."

Their eyes lock, and this time Regina is positive her lungs are broken in some way or another when Emma raises a challenging eyebrow.

"Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all," Regina answers honestly.

Or at least, not in the way most people would think. Coming from a wildly conservative mother, Regina had been led to believe that homosexuality was abnormal at one point. In the end her father had been a carefree man with the belief that everyone deserves happiness, no matter the sexual orientation.

The thought of Emma being gay doesn't bring any sort of uneasiness as she half expects it to. Instead a wave of heat coils deep in the pit of her stomach, thrumming low between her legs. And it only intensifies when Emma's eyes, dark and open and calculative, drop from her face to her body and flick back up so quickly Regina thinks she's imagined it.

"Good," Emma whispers in relief and clears her throat. "That's...good."

The heat doesn't disappear even as Emma gets up.

If anything it remains as this dull, aggravating throb that spreads throughout Regina's body; stifling and overpowering her with the urge to shrug out of her cashmere sweater, and perhaps cross the room where Emma is and -

"Here."

Regina glances up in surprise. Whatever thoughts that manage to surface over the forefront of her mind vanish when she takes in the stack of pamphlets in Emma's hand, offered to her in a tentative gesture.

"What's this?"

"Just some information I think you might find useful," Emma informs her. The words are complete with a knowing grin, and then -

"Pride is coming up this weekend. My friend Ruby is sponsoring a float for her grandma's diner down by 59th street. You should come."

Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, Regina asks, "Will you be there?"

This time the smile is brighter, more flirtatious than the last, and somehow it makes Regina's pulse race and her body thrum for reasons she doesn't understand, nonetheless want to. It doesn't  _mean_  anything - not the fact that her mind seems to turn into a weeping pile of nothing every time this woman smiles at her. She's just tired. Confused, and maybe a bit of an emotional wreck.

It's not like Regina's  _gay_ or anything.

"Why don't you come and find out?"

..

As it turns out, the pamphlets are informational - enough to nearly shove the entire pile into the trashcan when Regina catches the title of the first page - 'What to Expect When You're Expecting (A Gay Crisis)'.

In fact, they spend a whole twenty minutes in the waste basket up in her study when she changes her mind. There are articles in the pile, too, and she skims through those before she realizes maybe this hadn't been such a good idea after all. Because curious or not, the articles touch a nerve she'd rather not touch with a ten foot pole.

She finds herself at Barnes and Noble that same day.

She must be losing her mind if she's browsing through the Gay and Lesbian aisle like it's a common practice. But it's Friday afternoon, the children are out of school and scattered all over the place, and Regina's certain she looks more like a dear in headlights than anything resembling normalcy.

One of the associates seems to take notice.

"Can I help you find anything?"

She's an older woman, probably mid forties, with crinkles beneath her eyes and a smile kind enough to almost bring Regina at ease.

Almost.

Regina returns it with a strained one of her own. "Well, yes actually. I'm looking for..." she trails off and gestures awkwardly at the display before them. "L-lesbian. Books. Lesbian books. Do you have a wider selection?"

It's potentially the most humiliating question she's ever had to ask. But rather than sneer at her with a look of disapproval, the associate beams, teeth and all, and waves her over with a friendly pat.

"I've been waiting for someone to take these off my hands. Wait here."

The woman leaves her then. It's only minutes later when she comes back with a stack of books larger than Regina's rapidly deflating ego.

"This one's my favorite," the woman practically gushes. "About a married woman who starts an affair with her employer. A great read if you're in for a lonely night."

The comment is emphasized with a not-so-subtle wink. Regina accepts the stack with a pained smile before catching a glimpse of the title.

_Forbidden Fruit._

The novel itself is terribly ridiculous, she thinks later that night as she manages to get through the introduction. And sensual in a way she doesn't see in many romance novels. Not that she's read enough to pull a comparison.

But the main character reminds her a bit of Emma; strong and levelheaded, with a streak of stubbornness and innocence combined that for the better part of twenty minutes, Regina  _imagines_ it's Emma pining after the scary boss woman in the story. A woman that happens to remind Regina of herself.

That night, Regina dreams of her. Of the cozy office room she's come to think of as her own space now, with Emma sitting silently on the chair across from her. A smirk dawns over the blonde's features, small and coy and vastly different from the open smiles she's received over the last few weeks. Regina almost doesn't notice the other people surrounding them - Robin, Tink, Dr. Hopper, even her mother - all of whom are watching her. Judging her. The nagging sense of guilt returns.

When the dream shifts, so does the guilt. The room is empty save for the two of them, and suddenly Emma is pressed against her. Chest to chest, hips locked tightly together as Emma kisses her, pushes her further into the door. Regina kisses her back with equal fervor, if not more when hands grab tightly at leather. And then Emma's hand is on her bare thigh, hiking her leg up and trailing higher and higher up the hem of her skirt, stopping only when it reaches its destination and Regina gasps.

The dull slam of the door is what awakens her at three in the morning, tiny feet padding away towards the bathroom down the hall.

Her skin burns. Her panties cling to her uncomfortably, moist from arousal. She doesn't think she's ever felt this tempted to shove a hand between her thighs and relieve herself.

Beside her, Robin continues to snore softly, unaware of the world around him or the fact that his wife has just awakened from a wet dream involving another woman.

It's three o' clock in the morning. The silence has never sounded louder.

..

"Do you think there'll be clowns here?"

It's the following morning when Regina finds herself out of bed and out into the crowded streets of Fifth Avenue. The subway had been packed, not to mention a pain to handle, but she had safely maneuvered them around the thick horde just in time for the parade to begin.

Roland's wide-eyed gaze takes in the scene in wonder. Flashes of color and rainbows sprout from every direction, dozens upon hundreds of people shoving past them with an enthusiasm that has him grinning broadly in the daylight. His dimpled smile only widens with each passing display.

Ruffling his hair affectionately, Regina replies, "I don't think so."

"What about Miss Emma? Is she coming too?"

"That's a very good question."

Regina frowns and checks her phone once more. With each passing minute she grows a little more irritated, now that the last message she had received from Emma had been to meet her in front of Granny's Diner. And that had been over half an hour ago.

She glares into the screen just as Roland's shout filters in through the commotion.

"Look at that one! That lady is dressed like Cinderella."

"That's nice, sweetheart," she hums distractedly.

"But mama. Look!"

Regina's head snaps up. She isn't sure whether to feel fearful or elated at the term of endearment - Roland has never called her mom before, at least not since he was a toddler and discovered that his real mother had passed away. But the surprise quickly morphs into shock when she sees who he's referring to.

A little boy comes rushing towards them. He looks to be around nine, breathless and nearly toppling over his feet in his haste to reach them. Behind him is Cinderella.

Or rather, Emma dressed in an outrageous puffy dress - but Cinderella nonetheless.

Regina barely has the sense to close her mouth before a hand curls around her wrist.

"There you are!" Emma exclaims, and she's tugging at her hand now, pulling her forward into the crowd. "Come on! Let's go!"

Regina stammers briefly before wrenching her hand away. "What on earth are you talking about? Go  _where_? And what the hell are you wearing?"

But Emma's already got a hand on her forearm, leading her through the throngs of people surrounding them while Regina hastily tries to keep a hold of Roland.

"You'll see."

Clenching her jaw, Regina grits out, " _Miss Swan_."

"Sorry! Getting ahead of myself."

When Emma turns, there's a twinkle in her eye that Regina doesn't miss as she gestures to the little brown-haired boy by her side.

"This is Henry," she exclaims over the noise. "My son."

Regina's slack jawed expression seems to garner a snort on Emma's part, while Henry simply bounces up and offers her an enthusiastic -

"Hi!"

Shifting her attention to Roland, Emma's smile grows warmer and somehow more attractive. She squats low, meeting his gaze at eye-level.

"You must be Roland," she says loudly and shakes his small hand. "How about we have some real fun and join in on the parade?"

His eyes brighten, his toothy grin spreading wide across his cheeks when he responds, "Can we?"

"Of course!"

Roland's childish laugh becomes muffled by the echo of shouts, but he's still smiling when Emma motions for him to climb over her shoulders - he's small enough to do that sort of thing - and Regina's chest aches just a little bit more. They take off again, Regina following unwittingly with a ten year old's hand tucked securely into her own, warm and clammy and she honestly has no idea what to do with herself when she feels like she might implode.

"Over here!"

It's chaos in a way Regina has never experienced before.

As a child she had gone to the Breast Cancer walks with her mother, snuck to New Orleans with her father once for the Mardi Gras parade while her mother had been away on a business trip, but it had never felt like this. Like all the blood is rushing to her head, pumping frantically through her veins.

Like the hearts of thousands of people are beating all at once.

"That's Ruby!" Emma calls out and gestures to the scantily clad woman atop an average sized float. They're in the center of the parade now, amidst the throngs of people lined up on either side.

"Does she always dress so..."

"Skimpy?" Emma finishes for her, and her lips turn up in a coy grin. "Kinda. She's supposed to be Red Riding Hood, in case you couldn't tell. We decided on fairy tales this year."

"Let me guess. The costume was last minute?"

"Only thing I could find at the thrift shop that resembled a Swan princess."

"I'm a prince!" Henry chirps from her side.

His hand is still clasped around hers, firm and gentle like it belongs there and it's strange, how for a moment Regina thinks it actually does.

"That you are, kid," Emma agrees wholeheartedly. "That you are."

Ahead there's a group of churchgoers that Regina vaguely recognizes as the sort of people her mother would associate with, dressed in business suits and dresses of different colors, with signs and frowns and bitter slurs. Emma lifts both her middle fingers in the air.

Regina lets out an incredulous laugh then, one that only prompts Emma to join in as well.

It's even stranger, Regina thinks, when she would usually pass the time watching over Roland or dismissing the enthusiasm shining brightly in the crowds of New York. But here there's nothing to do but watch it all happen, taste the cool wind and slight tang of smoke and barbecue mingling in the air. Feel the thrill coursing through her veins with Roland's laughter and Henry's sweaty palm pressed against her own. Or see the mirthful gleam in Emma's eyes. Dark and deep and impenetrable, a bit like staring into the ocean.

And Regina knows she's fallen in too deep to ever think of getting back up.

..

The days come and go, and so does the month of October.

Regina finds herself watching the calendar days go by more often than not. She wants to think it's because the holidays are quickly approaching; she's far too busy maintaining her company to understand why she never sleeps. Or when she does, it's with the crippling guilt of having Robin's slumbering form inches from her own.

With the knowledge that no matter how far or how high she reaches out, there's no longer anything to grasp.

Her appointments with Emma dwindle down to once a week - every Friday at eight am. Regina sees her almost daily now that she's been pushing herself to work her lungs, except she can't seem to breathe when she's around Emma. And truthfully the whole procedure is a bit of a contradiction on its own.

She counts thirty-four days. Eight hundred sixteen hours.

Thirty-four.

That's how long it takes for her to admit it out loud.

"I think I'm..." Regina inhales shakily. Blood rushes to her ears, pulsing and hammering, like a bell slamming repeatedly inside her head.

"I think I may be gay."

Aside from the light drizzle pattering against the window pane, the room is silent. Dr. Hopper uncrosses his legs, crosses them again, and regards her in a calculative, albeit neutral, manner.

"Are you certain?"

"Are you asking me if I'm  _sure_ I'm gay?" Regina states with a brittle laugh. " _Of course I'm not_."

"I'm asking if this is something you'd consider putting a label on. Sexuality ranges on a decently wide scale. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"How can you even say that?" she snaps. "Need I remind you that I'm  _married_? Or did that slip your mind as well?"

"Let's forget about Robin for a moment. Focus on the present," Dr. Hopper advises calmly. "We all have a little bit of a hero complex in us, you know."

"Is that so?"

"You can't save everyone, Regina," he says solemnly. He's leaning over his chair now, marking the point in their conversation where the air seems to shift around them, his gaze grim but determined. Hopeful.

"I want you to know that it's okay if you only save one person. And it's okay if that person is you."

She doesn't know what to say to that, so she doesn't say anything at all. And it's not for another two weeks that Regina realizes that maybe he isn't a complete imbecile after all.

The Friday before Thanksgiving, Emma has her making paper airplanes.

They're thick and sturdy and made from the type of paper you would find in a fancy resumé. She thinks Emma might've stolen them from the office next door, though she doesn't care enough to question it when she's already busy wondering why she's folding paper planes in the first place.

"Remind me again why we're doing this."

"Because it's fun," Emma answers cheekily, and wiggles her eyebrows in response to Regina's unimpressed glare. "And because you're not very good at getting your thoughts out. So why not let them go?"

Regina frowns. "And you think writing my secrets down and watching them plummet to the ground is going to bring some sort of spiritual awakening? What? Are you going to have me sit down and sing Kumbaya as well?"

"That's level four therapy. We haven't gotten there yet," Emma points out in a jesting manner, except Regina doesn't find it very funny at all as she resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Just write it down. You can complain about my counseling techniques later."

At Regina's expectant look, Emma heaves out a sigh.

"I won't look."

It's as much of a promise as she's going to get.

Gathering the paper structures on a nearby desk, Regina writes a thought out in each one - mostly little secrets here and there, ones she hadn't bothered to state out loud simply because she never had any reason to.

Her first boyfriend had been a boy named Daniel who smelled like fresh grass and horses.

Contrary to popular belief, she isn't entirely heartless and indulges in cheesy rom coms every once and a while.

Sometimes she dreams. Of grassy fields and wide meadows, of living outside the city in a little cottage by the sea.

It isn't until she gets to the last one that she takes a leap of faith, primarily to get out of her comfort range enough to write down the single thought that has bearing down on her mind for the last six weeks.

Other times she thinks she's going straight to hell, for going astray when she should be maintaining her marriage vows.

She wonders if there's a guidebook out there for accidentally falling in love with your therapist.

"You ready?"

Regina clears her throat, clutches the rest of the paper planes in her arms before following the voice to the open window side. The view leads down to the vast city down below, with thirty stories to encase the seemingly endless landscape. Cool air whips across her face.

"Do you want me to go first?" Emma asks. "I can show you how to make it fly longer."

Regina scoffs. "I'm not stupid, Emma. I know how to throw a paper plane."

"Suit yourself."

Shrugging meekly, Emma proceeds, and Regina quickly follows suit. Her first plane is immediately caught by the wind, as though it was meant to fail from the beginning and flop towards the ground. She doesn't have much success with the second either.

"How therapeutic," Regina grumbles.

"Think of it as releasing your burdens into the sky. You're letting them go where anyone can find them. Eight million people live in New York City alone," Emma replies and grins knowingly at Regina's deflated ego. "Eight million and not one will know it's you."

"I'll have you know I'm more well known than that."

"Maybe. But here? Here you're just Regina." Emma's voice takes on a softer edge as she shuffles closer to Regina's side, halting the other woman before she can release another plane.

A hand settles on Regina's forearm, cool and gentle. "You have to flick your wrist."

And then Emma is behind her, the heat of her body molding into Regina's back. Regina stifles the shiver that courses up her spine, straining to keep her breath from hitching with the warm presence lining with her body, but it's difficult to ignore. What, with Emma's hand clasped around her wrist, and the other fitting snugly over her lower hip.

"Throw it evenly. And aim higher than you normally would."

"You can't honestly be giving me paper throwing advice."

"Why not? Gives me the excuse to smell your hair."

Regina's laugh falls through as a breathy chuckle, mostly because it's Emma's soapy fragrance she smells right now and it's blinding her senses a little. But she follows the blonde's movements, flicking her wrist just so, and the paper plane takes off at a more direct angle. It hovers in the air and descends into the city until it's nothing more than a distant splotch in the sky. Somehow the sight of it makes her feel lighter, like all the weight of the last two weeks has been lifted from her shoulders.

Emma's hand never strays from her hip.

She spends her Thanksgiving with Robin and Roland, with Tink as the guest of honor and her newest boy toy tagging along for the sake of courtesy. The man's name is Killian Jones and by far the most gruesome Tink has dated, but his Irish charms are apparently too much for Tink to simply ignore. She smiles more lately, however. And so Regina can at least admit the moron is good for something.

"He's atrocious," Regina mutters, sending a wary glare towards the living room. Robin had taken a liking to him unfortunately. The two are now seated by the television watching a game of Cricket.

Honestly.  _Cricket._

"You say that about every guy I date," Tink surmises amusingly. "Seriously. Is there anyone out there worthy enough for the Mills stamp of approval?"

"I'm only saying - he  _groped_ you not even two minutes after you stepped through the doorway, Tink."

"What do you want me to say? That sort of thing happens when you spend a good amount of time playing 'how flexible are you' in the bedroom."

Regina's face scrunches up in disgust. "That was unnecessary."

"Would it make you feel better if I was talking strictly ladies?"

The statement catches Regina so off guard, the pan she had been using to heat up her specialty sauce slides right off the stove and clatters into the sink, at the same time her phone beeps from the island. Cursing beneath her breath, Regina abruptly heads for her phone and composes herself enough to read the message she'd received from Emma.

_Happy thanksgiving! Henry says he misses you. And you know, I guess I kinda do too._

Regina feels the smile curl around her lip against her better judgment.

_But in all seriousness. If we're talking gratitude here, I'll always be grateful for Henry. No matter what. But tonight I'm thinking I'm grateful to have met you._

"Regina?"

She shakes herself out of her reverie only to realize she'd been staring at the screen for a full minute, unaware of the dazed expression striking her face. She senses Tink's gaze on her, feels it burning, prickling over her shoulders. And Regina turns with the dawning realization that she's crying.

"I - I can't," her voice is strained. "I don't know if I can do this anymore, Tink."

Tink's expression is surprisingly soft under the light, almost understanding. "I know. It's okay."

Shaking her head, the pressure in her chest seems to tighten before Regina releases it in a sob. "I'm in love with a woman."

Silence.

The kind of silence you would find at midnight on a deserted road, where the air is thick and heavy and quiet enough where only your heartbeat thrums from a distance.

"Oh, honey."

And then Tink's arms are around her, holding her close and rocking her back and forth like her father used to do when she was younger. And Regina cries and cries until there are no longer any tears to cry away, until the turkey burns and Robin rushes in minutes later to see why the house smells like it's on fire.

Needless to say Thanksgiving is a disaster.

She doesn't fare much better the following Monday.

After insisting that she see Dr. Hopper for her 'mental breakdown,' as Robin had so bluntly put it, she reluctantly agrees to set up an appointment for couple's therapy. She leaves Roland with Tink that morning, and between Hopper's gaze flicking from her to Robin in a nervous interpretation of a chameleon, and Robin sitting by in a comedic display of both ignorance and confusion, Regina can safely say the session is the most awkward of experiences she's ever had to endure.

That is until she's leaving, muttering a terse goodbye to Dr. Hopper when someone else blocks her path. Regina turns and blinks, her lips parting in surprise.

Emma.

"Regina!" She's equally startled when a small lump of ten year old boy collides into her, arms encircling her waist. Henry's enthusiastic grin manages to break her out of whatever trance she's locked in.

"Henry," she breathes, more than a bit shocked by how pleased she is to see him again. Eyebrows furrowed, she turns to the other woman and says, "Emma. What're you doing here?"

"I was on my way to see Archie, actually. Have some references he might need," Emma tells her, and she sounds near bashful. "Were you just coming back from his office?"

"I -"

She's so thrown by her presence that Regina almost misses the way Emma's eyes dart over her head and narrow slightly in recognition. Or perhaps it's irritation.

"I see you've made yourself a new friend."

Robin's tone is amused when he approaches them, first glancing at Henry who has yet to relinquish his hold on Regina's waist, before his eyes finally settle on Emma.

Regina's stomach drops to her feet.

"Please, let me introduce myself. I'm Robin," he says and holds out his hand, polite as ever. "And you are?"

"Dr. Swan," she answers. "Dr. Emma Swan."

The response is clipped, Emma's face withdrawn, her usual friendly demeanor shrunken down to a terse smile that seems to curl downwards by the second. It's hidden well by the neutral facade she holds up as the two exchange pleasantries, but Regina knows better.

In the minute it takes for Robin to charm his way through introductions - as he's always done. Sweet, clueless Robin - Emma's eyes find hers before they flicker down to the brunette's hands, where Regina incidentally begins tinkering with her wedding ring.

The look she receives after that is knowing. Pitying. And it sets Regina's veins ablaze in white hot fury.

"Well that was certainly..." Robin trails off uncertainly after they've parted ways moments later. "Tense."

Tense is an understatement.

..

"Are you even going to tell me what the hell happened?"

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that."

It's four days later when she sees Emma again. It's raining, as it had been all week, and the leather chair is uncomfortable against her rear. Not to mention they had replaced the receptionist outside from the elderly woman with the grey face to a much younger gay male who was pompous enough to comment on her make up. Over all it hasn't been the greatest start to her day.

It's four days later and it's only about to get worst.

Regina scowls at the offhanded response, gazing thoughtfully at the pale face before her. It's partially hidden by the pair of black frames perched over Emma's nose, but the fact that those green eyes sparkle less these days is evidence enough that Regina isn't the only one worn down by life choices.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Regina states haughtily. "You haven't even been answering my calls."

"I told you to leave a voicemail if it's an emergency."

"Really now? And it has nothing to do with you ignoring me after the way you treated Robin?"

This time Emma turns from her notes and acknowledges her existence, peering up at her from the fringe of her hair.

"How  _I_ treated him?"

"You were practically glaring  _bullets._ Would it have killed you to make your dislike for him any less obvious?"

"I don't  _dislike_ him, Regina. Robin's a perfectly swell guy," Emma defends. "He's just... a little full of himself."

"Full of himself?" Regina echoes in disbelief. "You don't even know him."

"No, but I know  _you._ And anyone who doesn't see the kind of pain being with him causes you is a jackass in my book."

She sniffs. "You have no right -"

"Don't I?" Emma interjects, and this time she places her notepad to the side. "You're paying me to give you my opinion, aren't you? Well, there it is."

"I'm paying you to assist me with my sex life."

"Kinda hard to do when you're married to a man you aren't even attracted to," Emma snipes calmly. "I mean, I'm only human, Regina. I can't read your mind. What more do you want from me?  _Talk_ you into an orgasm?"

It appears as though it wasn't what Emma had meant to say, as her eyes widen ever so slightly in growing horror. Regina quickly follows the expression with a stunned one of her own, except it doesn't mimic the alarm shadowing Emma's face. She doesn't even feel as scandalized by the implied notion as she knows she should.

If anything her insides twist and turn and it feels suspiciously like arousal.

"I'm sorry," Emma apologizes after a moment of strained silence. "That was inappropriate."

It was, Regina wants to say. There are a variety of things she she'd like to say, actually, including some colorful words she has been forced to keep in in order to retain her composure. Instead Regina says something else entirely.

"Would you?"

And Emma's head snaps up, so quickly Regina begins to think she had just brought on a whole new meaning of whiplash.

"What?"

"Would you," Regina repeats, only this time her voice shakes a little as she tries to contain the queasy feeling in her stomach.

"Would I what?" Emma doesn't give her time to answer, but she does look about as nervous as Regina feels. "Verbally seduce you? Are you kidding me right now?"

"Why would I be? Aren't you the one who claimed to have studied different types of meditation?"

"That was Las Angeles, Regina. A complete stranger strokes you in front of fifty other people and they call it orgasmic meditation," Emma explains. "My studies ranged from counseling to Asian and European practices. But those... Those aren't part of my job. Most people would call them unethical."

"But I'm not most people, am I?"

It's seems like the right thing to say, because Emma hesitates, her face softening to an indecisive degree. And Regina knows she has her, knows where to take the plunge.

"Please, Emma."

There's a pause in which Emma looks away first, glances up at the clock. "Your session's almost up."

Regina sits in silence, disappointment creeping in her belly with a sickening tug. That is until Emma continues.

"I'll need to cancel my next appointment for this to work. Why don't you take your coat off so we can get started?"

Her gaze flicks up in surprise. "What else do you need me to do?"

Emma returns the look, the corner of her brow furrowed and she looks so unsure about herself right then, so small and naive. Yet she manages to ooze enough confidence to ease them both.

"Lie down."

..

It doesn't take long for Emma to reschedule her next arrangements, or for Regina to feel the maximum effect of her nerves stripping her down to her bones. The fact that she's completely blindsided to the events of the next hour brings out her vulnerability.

And it's an utter pain.

"Are the candles really necessary?"

Emma's only response is a noncommittal hum as she finishes setting up the table beside her. Two candles flicker from the surface, leaving the room exposed to creeping shadows and a soft stream of light illuminating the walls.

"They're just for show," Emma finally says. "It'll help you relax, though."

Regina isn't inclined to agree - they're more of a distraction if anything, especially with the way the light shines over Emma's face in perfect angles - but doesn't argue.

"Alright, that should be good." Emma straightens, takes a step forward until she's looming over Regina. "You can close your eyes now."

Regina shoots her a suspicious glance.

"Relax. I'll be standing right here, no sudden movements. Just listen to my voice."

"Yes. Because that'll certainly help me relax," Regina mutters.

"I'll have you know my voice is sexy," Emma jests right back.

She breathes out a short laugh, edging closer to relaxation in those few seconds than she has for the last ten minutes. She closes her eyes to the surrounding darkness, listens to the calm pattering of raindrops outside, to the quiet crackling of flames swishing back and forth.

"Now I want you to take a deep breath. Feel it tighten at the base of your spine." Her voice is much closer now. "Do you feel that? Do you feel it coiling in your stomach, down to your toes? I want you to let it out now. Think of it as letting go of your worries. Of life's expectations, of everything. Those don't exist anymore. It's just you and me right now, Regina."

The smooth husk of her name spilling from Emma's lips sends an unexpected shiver down Regina's spine.

"People tend to think that you need to clear your mind to reach a state of self-awareness. But our minds wander endlessly. Don't pay attention to your thoughts. Don't use them as a distraction. Don't fight to clear your mind. Let them drift into the background and focus on the present."

"I'm focusing."

"Good. Focus harder."

Regina's lip quirks up against her will. For a moment she considers calling it quits, as she's never been the sort to succeed in meditation. She had been raised to be uptight and in control, and therefore ignorant of the tension coiling in her muscles and the chaotic structure of her thoughts.

But Emma's voice is admittedly soothing. Rich and smooth like honey. And so Regina lets her thoughts drift far into the background where the silence lays, listens to the gentle puffs of her own breath fill the air.

"Now breathe in."

Within minutes and several more breathing exercises Regina's lungs begin to function at a steady pace. In and out. Like a broken record repeating the same verse over and over again. Only it isn't so much the brokenness picking away at her skin.

It's the tiny pieces of herself being pulled back together with every breath.

"Focus on that point for me, that ball of weightlessness in the center of your body and use it to feel the impulses of love and desire and sexual energy. Imagine it radiating out of the base of your spine and filling your body. Imagine it as someone touching your very core."

There's a change in her breathing pattern that Regina doesn't take note of until the weight in her body shifts, vibrating beneath her skin. Tingling down the length of her abdomen and stopping at a solid pulse right at the apex between her legs. It courses through her veins like a rabid disease, and suddenly Regina isn't so in control of her breathing anymore.

".. tracing fingertips down your thighs..."

She can picture Emma underneath her, over and inside her and just about everywhere else. Her eyes are ablaze in lust, never tearing from Regina's when hands leave a scorching trail down her sides, over the swell of her breasts and jutting nipples. They trace down the pathway of her stomach, further and further until all there is is slick heat and -

"Think about how wet you are. Think for a moment what it will be like to be pinned down on that very couch and thoroughly  _fucked_  -"

_Oh._

Somewhere off in the distance Emma's words are contained by the sense of vertigo floating through her veins. They drift further away from Regina's consciousness until she's no longer aware of her surroundings.

Instead she's very much aware of the pressure tugging at her lower abdomen, pulling and throbbing and she thinks she might've made a sound deep in her throat that sounds a bit like a gasp, but the world is spinning and she doesn't have much control over her lungs anyway.

She imagines Emma - Emma naked and writhing, head thrown back and bare breasts heaving, with a flush of arousal that spreads all the way down to the space between parted legs and glistening folds.

Regina wants to pull her closer, wants Emma to hold her and leave bruises in the shape of fingertips all across her sides, wants to ride Emma's fingers down to the knuckles until she's grinding into Emma's lap over and over again -

"Do you feel that?"

" _Yesss_ ," Regina hisses, her voice unrecognizable.

And suddenly the level of equilibrium she's reached explodes.

It's like the beginning of a firework display, the way her body arches and shivers and color seeps into her vision. At the sound of a harsh gasp, Regina blinks, her sight blurry from the remnants of her orgasm. But there's no missing the slick feel of her hand shoved in between her parted thighs, or the smell of arousal thick in the air.

It isn't until the shuffle of movement by her side that she notices Emma for the first time. The realization of what she's done dawns on Regina so quickly, she snaps her hand back from the confines of her panties and blushes fiercely.

_Oh god. No._

"Emma, I -"

"You said my name," Emma interrupts her. Her voice is raspy and tight, and she looks like she hasn't moved from her spot since they started the procedure. "Right before you came, you said my name."

Did she?

Regina can't say she remembers, not that she wants to when the humiliation is drowning her. She's about to grasp for an excuse when her gaze latches onto Emma's, and the air is knocked out of her is a silent whoosh.

Emma's eyes are dark, dilated to the point where irises that were once a bright green are now black as coal. There's a light sheen of sweat forming over her flushed cheeks, and her chest rises in time with her heavy breaths when she finds Regina staring back at her.

_Women are more subtle. Their pupils become dilated, their breathing patterns escalate_

"You feel it, too," Regina mutters, standing up. She gives off a short, cutting laugh before disbelievingly asking, "So I'm  _not_  going crazy? You just made it seem like I was."

"It was never my intention to make you think you were going crazy, Regina," Emma says. "I was trying to help you."

"By ruining my marriage?" Regina snaps.

"By guiding you out of one that is slowly killing you. And you know it!  _This_." And Emma gestures to the space between them. "This was never supposed to happen. I thought I could show you how beautiful and smart and  _worthy_ you are. I thought I could show you how happy you can be without the expectations or the rest of the world telling you how you should live your life."

"And if you make me happy?"

The words are out before Regina can think to drag them back in, but she doesn't begin to regret them until Emma turns sorrowful eyes to her and the hand in Regina's chest clenches.

"You're my patient, Regina."

She hates it, hates the way her voice wavers and the shame burns at the back of her eyes.

"So that's it then?" It's more of a plea than it is a question, low and broken. "That's all I am to you?"

"Of course not -"

"No, stop lying to me," Regina says harshly, even though her heart is sinking straight to her stomach and god, it  _hurts_. "You won't have to worry about patient confidentiality any longer, Ms Swan. Congratulations, you have yourself a finished case. I wish you the best."

She steps aside as briskly as she can and walks to the door with all the confidence she can muster, which is very little, in all actuality.

"Regina," Emma calls out. "Regina, wait! Please!"

But the words bounce off deaf ears as the door slams shut behind her.

..

Emma calls her exactly seven times throughout the course of the week. One for each day, voicemail included.

Regina ignores them all.

After that the calls stop, and so do the texts. She receives a voicemail sometime during the second week from the new secretary on the thirtieth floor, asking if she wants to continue the sessions. She gets another one from Dr Hopper.

"You look tired," he notes during one of their final sessions. He observes her with quiet sympathy, as he always does when he simply  _knows_. How, Regina will never figure out.

But it's a look that piles heavily on her already crumpling form and she seethes in barely contained rage.

" _Tired_?" Regina echoes, and she laughs hollowly. "Is that what you want to call it?"

"I'm only stating what I see."

"Well maybe you should state something a little less obvious, hm? Because as far as I know, my life is in shatters and it means absolutely  _nothing_. So yes, Hopper. Perhaps I'm just  _exhausted_."

"Of course you are," he agrees, startling Regina into silence upon his next words.

"You're fighting a war inside your head, Regina. Every single day. If that's not exhausting then I don't know what is."

It doesn't take her long afterward to realize she's been fighting a war since the day she was born. Since the days her mother would lock her in the closet when she misbehaved, or slap her wrist when her lady-like behavior wasn't up to par.

Since the days her father would stand by and watch and love her from a distance, or when her mother discovered her relationship with the stable boy, framed him for stealing and had him sent clear across the country, never to be heard from again. Since her father died of a heart attack, leaving her to face her mother alone. Or when her mother followed in his footsteps only two years later, strong, fearless Cora, who had managed to hide the first signs of cancer for as long as she did, up until she had her breast removed and was laid upon her death bed four days after.

Since the day she decided to marry Robin.

She had thought it was the first ever decision she had freely made since her mother's death, but dwelling on it now, she realizes that was never the case. It didn't matter where she went or what she did. All around her there were always expectations, trapping her amidst a wall of social norms.

Breaking out of them had been the challenge she never knew she had to face.

She thinks about it often nowadays - the idea that she isn't as trapped in a predefined lifestyle as she originally was while her mother was alive, or even after death. She thinks about what it would be like to freely choose how to live her life the way she'd planned as a little girl.

A life with Emma maybe, in another time and place. Another universe. A life with Henry and Roland together and it would be just the four of them - this little unconventional family that paves the way for endless possibilities.

It's on a cold, snowy Saturday evening when Regina makes her choice.

He's sitting at the desk in her study when she finds him, wrapped up in the budget reports for the upcoming week and he smiles when he sees her. It makes the impact of what she's about to do curl and twist painfully in her stomach.

"Hey," Robin greets her, leaning back into the office chair. "Belle agreed to take Roland in for the night. I was thinking we could do something special for dinner now that we have the house to ourselves."

Regina shakes her head. "That won't be necessary."

"Okay..." he trails off and crinkles his brow. "We can rent a movie instead? I'll just order in in case you get hungry - hey." He pauses and stands from his seat, which only causes her to take a step back. "What's wrong?"

The ring feels heavy in her hand, cold against her touch even as she places it on the surface of the desk. It clinks loudly in the otherwise silent room, and Robin's eyes follow the movement in a horrifying display of incredulity.

"I'm leaving you, Robin."

The words cut sharply on both ends, with Regina doing her absolute best to maintain her composure despite every cell in her veins preparing for a break down. Her heart is racing as she stands there, watching Robin's face crumple beneath the weight of shock and grief.

And then, in a voice so small and weak and  _broken_ , he whispers. "Regina?"

"I'll be staying with Tink in the meantime," Regina continues on in monotone. "Until I can get things sorted out and we can discuss custody agreements. I'll have Sidney come by later this week with the divorce papers."

"Regina," Robin repeats in a whisper and he's heaving, his chin trembling with the force of upcoming tears. "Regina, please.  _Please_ tell me this is all a joke. I - I don't understand."

"I don't expect you to." Her voice is trembling and she has no idea how to stop it. "But no. As much as it pains me to say, this... this isn't a joke."

"But  _why_?" Robin blurts, eyes hollow and red stained, and Regina realizes he's crying. "W-why are you doing this? I just - I don't understand! Help me understand, Regina. I thought we were doing better. I thought - I thought we could make this work."

"Did you truly believe that?"

"Didn't you?" he says. "Or did you know this whole time? W-was it something I did?"

She inhales shakily. "Robin -"

"Please don't do this," he pleads and shakes his head as though the idea is incomprehensible. "Please, just... give it some more time to think about. We can work this out."

"You don't understand -"

"Then  _make_ me understand! Tell me what I need to do to make this work.  _Please_. I'll do anything -"

"Damn it, Robin. THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU!"

The words echo across the study in a deafening shout, like a hurricane breaking through the last few bridges of her sanity. She's shaking, gulping in gasps of air that make her chest retract painfully with every inhale. Finally she turns determined eyes to Robin who, much like herself, has lost himself to the grief-induced tears watering down his cheeks.

"It has nothing to do with you," she repeats, softly this time, and tethered with all the emotional baggage she's held onto for years. "And everything to do with me. My life, my choices. My... happiness. I need to do this."

"Regina..." He's openly sobbing now, gritting his teeth to stop his jaw from wobbling the way it's meant to, and it completely shatters her heart. "Regina, please. I - I love you."

"I don't need you to love me, Robin."

A fist slams onto the desk, angry now, knocking the ring from the surface and straight to the ground.

"Who will then?" comes the desperate reply. "Enlighten me. Who's going to love you the way Roland and I have all these years?"

A beat. Two.

For a split, solitary second, Regina imagines what her life would've been like had she been happy with what she has. Had she listened to her mother and been the good daughter she was supposed to be. But it's a split second, and she sets her jaw with more resolve than she ever thought possible.

"Me."

Robin doesn't say anything after that, but his lip trembles and his face is blotched in tears, and before long he's crying again. She walks forward, plucks the ring from the floor and places it in his hand, where it curls beneath a white-knuckled fist.

"Maybe in another world, I would've been enough," he says.

Regina doesn't know how to tell him that in any other world, she would've made the same choice. Over and over.

She just gives him a slow, sad smile instead.

..

The building is empty aside from the lone security guard sitting by the receptionist desk. He eyes her warily whereas she offers him a sultry smile, and in the end manages to bypass further questioning.

She has no idea what she's doing, not when it's still snowing outside and she's still a bit of an emotional mess. Not when the door is closed and the lights are out in 312. But she barges in nonetheless, feeling both triumphant and furious when Emma's head jerks up from the chair, glass of whiskey in hand. Stepping forward, Regina lets the door thump loudly behind her.

"Regina?"

" _You._ " Regina's tone is all sharp edges and cutting glass as she strides forward, doing absolutely nothing to mask her anger. "This is all  _your_ fault."

Emma stands, sets the glass aside and peers up at her with a slightly dazed expression, albeit confused and relieved.

"What're you doing here?"

"No, you don't get to ask questions. Not this time, Swan. Not after everything you've done."

"What -"

"I was  _fine_ before you stepped into my life, with your ridiculous enthusiasm and godawful running shoes. Did I mention those are hideous? Because they are. Not to mention that idiotic airplane act you have going. Which, by the way, serves absolutely no purpose but waste paper in an already declining economy."

Bewildered, Emma tries to step in, "I -"

"And then you gave me hope," Regina continues and her voice cracks. And it's  _awful_. "You of all people gave me something I've been raised  _not_ to believe. You made me believe that I could be happy, that I could start all over and have my ending right here. And then you  _took it away_."

Emma winces. "That's - that's not -"

"Do you really want to know why I'm here?" Regina seethes. "It's because  _I made my choice_. That little boy who lost his mother is going to grow up without one for a second time. I lost my house. I lost my life. I left my husband because of  _you -_ "

"You left Robin?" Emma asks in a whisper.

Regina's scathing glare could cut through steel. " _Don't_ interrupt me. You led me into an all around circle of not knowing, made me believe my feelings were reciprocated, rejected me afterwards - and for god's sake. What more do you _want_ from me?"

"You."

The single word is laced with no small degree of certainty. It stops Regina short of continuing her rant - so much so that her next words catch in her throat.

"I - what?"

The first clash of lips is rough and hard and completely and utterly unexpected.

It catches Regina so off guard, her first reaction is to push away. But Emma's palms are framed around her face, holding her gently and the touch is hot and soft against her skin and her mouth tastes like whiskey and chapstick. It drives Regina to the point of no return and rather than push, there's a fist-full of blond hair in her hand before she's pulling in.

Emma's gasp of surprise follows an even deeper kiss, with a flick of a tongue that causes Regina's knees to buckle and her insides to twist and  _god_  - she wants this. She wants to bring Emma closer, feel every inch of her skin heat up beneath her fingertips, wants to squeeze out every last ounce of Emma's essence and bring her to the brink of insanity.

She wants this more than anything she's ever dared to want in life.

Regina's backside hits the edge of the desk, pulling a grunt from her throat. Before she can think to comment on the pain, Emma's hands are kneading into her ass. And then she's being pushed back up against the surface of the desk, smoothly and quickly and Regina finds she can't stop the little mewl escaping her lips when the pressure between her legs presses into the hard surface.

She feels a bit like a rabid dog, having to rock her hips into the desk in order to relieve some of the throbbing pressure rushing downwards.

But then Emma is in front of her again, her touch scalding as she slides her hands underneath the length of the brunette's dress, up and up until they stop mid thigh and lurch Regina's legs further apart.

"I can't believe you're wearing a dress in the winter."

"I can't believe we're about to have sex in the same room you counsel your patients."

Emma regards her, eyes hooded and slightly worried. "Do you want to stop?"

This time it's Regina who initiates the kiss, her fingers digging into the nape of Emma's neck, into a solid skull where they thread through Emma's hair and tug her closer, unforgivably closer.

"Don't you dare," she grits out, and Emma just groans into her neck, pressing open mouthed kisses down her throat.

Regina isn't sure whose hand it is that is unbuttoning her coat through the mess of frantic kisses, nor does she care, now that she is able to touch Emma; palm her breasts through her sweater and run her hands down a taut back and grab at Emma's ass - grabs and  _pulls_ until their bodies are pressed together. She's positive Emma can feel her then - the heated press of her cunt rocking into the blonde's stomach, because Emma groans out a quiet ' _fuck'_ and rolls her hips and Regina shudders. Holds on tighter. And it isn't enough, not nearly, until Emma's hot breath whispers into her ear.

"Spread your legs."

Regina does so without question. It's a little embarrassing how much she wants this, how desperate she is to feel Emma against her, inside her.

But when Emma hikes her dress up and tugs down her pantyhose, panties included, the embarrassment easily fades to a flaming spike of  _need_. Because Emma's on her knees, her gaze smoldering when she glances from her cunt back to Regina and there's a sense of wonderment in her eyes.

"You're so wet."

Regina only nods, silently and breathlessly. And before she can utter another word, Emma's mouth is planting kisses down her thigh, to her hipbones until, _finally_ , a swipe of her tongue has Regina gripping the edge of the desk so tightly her knuckles turn white. Not that she notices when Emma does it again, using her tongue to lick a pathway through wet folds and Regina's hand dives into yellow hair and -

" _Oh_."

Emma smiles against her, obviously pleased by her reaction, and Regina doesn't care to reprimand her for the smug smirk when Emma's thumbs are spreading her further, leaving her exposed to the cool air and hot insistent mouth. It starts out as kisses at first, a barely-there press of lips and tongue until it's not. At the first touch of Emma's tongue on her clit, dark eyes flick up and lock onto Regina's, lingering there and Regina can't stop the rapid rise and fall of her hips swaying into the movement.

It's when Emma's lips circle the hard nub and suck that Regina loses herself. She gasps, a sort of half-choked moan as she tangles her fingers in Emma's hair and tugs, grounding herself into Emma's face.

An appreciative hum, and then Emma's tongue is circling her entrance, a light dip of pressure that sends an electric shock down the base of her spine and has her pulling at Emma, up and back to eye level.

"Did you not like -"

Regina kisses her, crushes their mouths together and silences whatever words were about to sprout. She can taste herself on Emma's tongue, smell the heavy scent of arousal in the air, and it urges Regina to reach between them and settle Emma's hand between her legs.

It sits there, finger drawing a lazy trail from her opening to her clit. Regina squeezes the wrist painfully and the look Emma gives her is so, so soft. Soft and affectionate and it impels Regina to bear down on the finger right where she wants it.

"I want you in me," she demands in a breathy tone. And christ, she's never felt this turned on in her life. "Emma,  _please_ -"

Her plea is cut off by the rapid thrust of a finger sliding inside her. It's abrupt and swift and sets her veins ablaze. Regina practically mewls in response to Emma pulling her close, holding her down against the desk as Emma's mouth stifles her moan.

The finger slowly slips out only to be drawn back in with another finger, quick as the first. Regina's hips jerk in time with the third thrust and she doesn't hold back as her legs lock around Emma's waist, securing her hold on the blonde with nimble hands clenching around Emma's shoulders.

"Faster."

Emma's breath stutters into her neck at the demand and she follows suit. Her arm keeps Regina anchored to the edge of the desk, while the other moves effortlessly between them, quickening the pace with each passing thrust. With the fire burning deep in her stomach, Regina doesn't think she can hold off for much longer.

But she needs to touch Emma, needs to feel something besides the shockwave coursing through her veins. Regina wrenches her by the pants, yanking her closer, and she doesn't realize how easy it is to pry the button loose until her hand slips into warm slickness and Emma's moaning into her neck with a particular hard shove.

"Emma," Regina whispers when knuckles graze against her clit, and she's rolling her hips again, grinding herself onto Emma in a jolting rhyhtm. "Emma, Emma -"

And then Emma's adding a third finger, twisting them up just  _so_ that Regina's body tightens. It curls in on herself and she's gripping even tighter, crying out with every spasm that leaves her body until it goes slack.

And even then Emma still has a hold on her, kissing the space between her ear and jawline before gently removing her fingers. It's soon thereafter that Regina realizes her hand is still tucked beneath Emma's jeans, dipped into a wet slit and another spike of arousal enflames her. Except when she goes to move it, Emma's hand is there, encasing it in hers and bringing Regina's knuckles to her lips.

"We don't have to do that now," Emma offers in a placid tone, and Regina blinks, looks from Emma to their hands and she finds herself entwining their fingers together without thought.

"Don't you want me to...?

"Of course I do," Emma says hastily. She chuckles lowly, tucks a strand of hair behind Regina's ear before adding, "But we have all night. And the day after that. Maybe the month after, too -"

She trails off, uncertainly, like she isn't sure how Regina would react to the idea. Of something longterm and  _real_  that, honestly, the idea strikes Regina with absolute fear. But it also makes her heart beat faster and her stomach flutter with all the types of questionable emotions she'd once imagined as a little girl.

So she pulls Emma in, before bringing her in for a slow, sweet kiss, one that lacks the initial fire of their encounter, but promises so many other things. Of futures and happy endings.

"I like the sound of that," she murmurs.

Smiling, Emma breathes out a mirthful, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

..

The door is slightly ajar when she steps in - doesn't knock, because Regina still doesn't ever knock. But Dr Hopper doesn't seem to mind when he glances up from the box he has set on his desk and welcomes her with a warm smile.

"Regina," he greets, and places one of the books he has in his hand atop a much larger pile. "It's been a while."

"It's been three months since our last session. I hardly think that counts for a while," Regina informs with a roll of her eyes.

"Even so. It's good to see you again."

"Hm."

Hopper regards her with a knowing look, as though he's able to see past the nervous tangle of her hands and awkward fidgeting - not that Regina  _fidgets_  all that often  _-_ but there doesn't seem to be anything stopping her from doing it right then and there.

"Is there a specific reason you decided to stop by?"

"I was just in the neighborhood," is Regina's casual reply, before finally stating, "You're leaving."

"I am."

"Why?"

She doesn't mean for her tone to sound so accusatory, but her eyes fall from the books piled up on his desk to the box filled with picture frames and special trinkets, and she feels the sharp twist of grief before she can contain it.

"I'm going to Seattle, actually," Hopper explains. "Better opportunities. I thought I could use a change."

"That sounds... nice."

She swallows, shifts her gaze to the walls that were once filled with various degrees and cheesy motivational posters. They are now bare.

"Well," Regina says and clears her throat. "I suppose I should get going. I wish you all the best on your journey, Dr Hopper."

"Archie, Regina," he tells her calmly, stopping her mid-stride just before she reaches the door. "After all these years, I like to think of us as friends. Please. Call me Archie."

"Very well."

Archie nods. "I have something for you. Before we part ways."

Regina watches him, keeps her eyes trained on the hand that reaches into the bottom drawer of his desk. He leans back up, offers her a reassuring smile. In his hand is a paper plane.

While it's seen better days, Regina immediately recognizes it as one of the ornaments she had made with Emma all those months ago. It seems like a lifetime now, after everything that has happened in between, but the smudged scrawl of her handwriting across the flap is unmistakeable.

"I found this down by the gardens on the ground floor," Archie informs her as he holds it out for her. "I had picked it up to throw away. But then I recognized your handwriting."

Regina's throat tightens when she reaches over for the paper figure. It's heavily crinkled, torn and all around useless, but it brings a smile to Regina's lips nonetheless.

"Does she make you happy?" he asks curiously.

Under normal circumstances, Regina would insist he mind his own business, pretend she has no idea what he's talking about. But these aren't normal circumstances anymore. They're new and different and she doesn't hesitate when she answers.

"Yes," she murmurs. "Very much so."

His smile is broad and genuine. "Then I'm happy for you," he says. "You've been my patient for just over two years, Regina. And I want you to know that I'm so proud of you. You have a bright future ahead of you. Live it well."

"Thank you, Archie," Regina replies with a watery smile of her own. "Thank you for everything."

..

"Mama, Emma! Over here!"

Roland's shout cracks over the commotion as he gestures excitedly to the available bench. It's no VIP access, as the view is a little further than what they can find in the designated picnic areas. But it would do for now. And judging by Emma's audible sigh of relief, Regina guesses she thinks so, too.

"Hey, kid. Wait up!" Emma exclaims. Her eyes are scanning the field ahead, searching for any sign of messy brown hair. "Do you see him anywhere? They said it was field six, right? How come we don't see him anywhere?"

Regina refrains from poking fun at the blonde. She stifles her smile, places a comforting hand over Emma's forearm.

"You're worrying, dear."

"Of course I am. It's his first soccer game."

"And he knows we'll be here every step of the way," Regina gently assures her. If anything there's very little she wouldn't do for that boy, and she makes sure to let him know that every step of the way. Just as she would with Roland.

"He'll be fine."

Emma still doesn't look too certain, but the game had already started ten minutes ago and, really, if Emma hadn't decided to stop for breakfast beforehand, more likely than not they would've made it on time.

"And Roland?"

"He'll be with me for the weekend. Robin is... well, he's still coping."

"Guys, there he is," Roland calls out and he's pointing, raising a tiny finger in the direction of a player down by the sidelines. "Go Henry!"

Regina spots him then, smiles widely when she sees his gaze drift in their direction. She's waving and he waves back, does this little dance with the tips of his toes that makes him look absolutely ridiculous. But it pulls a laugh from her throat and she simply shakes her head, wondering not for the first time how she ever managed to get so lucky.

"He loves you, you know," Emma says as an afterthought once the game proceeds. "Sometimes I get the feeling  _you're_ his mom."

"You mean with my sparkling personality?"

"And your inflated ego, yeah."

With a laugh, Regina nudges her playfully, only to have her hand encased in warm fingers, pressed into the soft confines of Emma's palm. Smiling softly at the sight, Regina raises her eyes to find Emma watching her with the sort of expression you would find in a dream. As though everyone else is a current and Regina's the entire ocean.

"Emma! Emma, look! Henry's got the ball!"

The moment is momentarily lost when Emma leaps up, mimicking Roland's enthusiasm in the same childish manner. Regina watches them from the sidelines; takes in the way Emma swoops him up in her arms and echoes his laughter.

Sunlight dips down from the horizon, the early morning dew filling her senses with something akin to a lullaby; peaceful and rhythmic. It tastes like the imminent approach of Spring, like lilies and promises and happiness, as overly sentimental as it all sounds. And she realizes that this, all of this, from the smile on Roland's face to the gift Henry had unknowingly given her,  _this_ is happiness.

This is her family.

And Emma – while Regina's the ocean, Emma's the moon that pulls her forward.

"What do you want to do after this?"

Emma comes back, wide grin in place, with Roland tucked affectionately beneath her arm as she resumes her seat. Immediately her hand finds Regina's.

"Today?"

Emma looks to her, confused. "Unless we're talking every day."

But Regina simply twines their fingers together.

"I want to watch the sunrise with you."


End file.
